


Aramis and the orphans

by AreYouSittingComfortably



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: A blanket fort, A blizzard, A blue ribbon, A storm, A stuffed toy, Bedtime Stories, Family, Fatherhood, Gen, Happy Ending, Hide and Seek, Humor, Missing Pieces, Singing, Soul-Searching, Twins, a picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreYouSittingComfortably/pseuds/AreYouSittingComfortably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Aramis and his herd of children at the monastery: their individual stories, and the challenges they represent. Sad and fluffy in (more-or-less) equal measure with some hopefully adorable details, like how Aramis got his ribbon, and how Marie got her stuffed toy. There's also a storm, singing, bed-time stories, games of hide-and-seek in the woods, a boy who wants to be a soldier, a child lost in a blizzard, and Aramis being forced to contemplate the pleasure and pain of fatherhood by a little boy who reminds him of the one he left behind. There's also a promise to return that he swears to keep, even if takes a little longer than he hopes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marc, Caroline, and how-do-you-solve-a-problem-like Marie?

Aramis had been at the monastery for about eight months when the first children turned up, orphaned by the war. Brother Paul brought them to the monastery after intervening when a stall holder in the market threatened Marc when he tried to steal a loaf of bread to share with his sister. He presented the pair to the Abbott and asked if they could offer them sanctuary. The Abbott agreed without hesitation, but wondered what to do with them. Most of the monks had lived in the monastery their whole lives and knew nothing of the war that was raging across France or what it meant to live in a world of fear and hunger. So, naturally he turned to Aramis, the only one among them that was intimately acquainted with that world and would be able to understand what the children had been through.

“They are your charges, now.” he instructed. “You will teach them to read and write in French and Latin, mathematics, and of course, bible studies. Five hours of lessons, plus you will take them for an hour of exercise every afternoon.”

Aramis protested, “But what of my work in the gardens and the clinic?”

“You’re excused from your work in the gardens. We will manage, and the children can help too - I expect there’ll be more,” he said sadly. “We’ll need you to continue your work in the clinic though for a couple of hours every afternoon, your skills are needed evermore.”

So Aramis unexpectedly found himself becoming teacher and guardian to Marc and Caroline, and as the war grew closer, and word got round that the monks were taking in orphans, more children came. Some stayed only temporarily, until distant relatives came to claim them, but others had nowhere to go. It was both a blessing and a curse for Aramis. A blessing, because they filled his day with laughter and variety, and he took great joy in the challenges they presented. And a curse, because there were also tears and nightmares and it made it so much harder for him to turn his back on the world, and the son he’d left behind, and live a quiet life of contemplation.

How could he find peace when he knew what horrors these children had been through?

For the first few months, it was just Aramis, Marc and Caroline. They were 9 and 8 when they first arrived. Their mother had died in childbirth (a stillborn brother or sister), when they were still toddlers, and their father, a woodsman, had raised them alone, until soldiers passed through their village and their father was killed along with several other men trying to defend their meagre stores of grain. He didn’t come home that night, or the next, and on the third they’d walked into the village and learned what had happened. The local inn-keeper had taken them in, but he was a cruel man, who saw them just as cheap labour, and when he beat Caroline for spilling precious ale, Marc had tried to intervene and been knocked unconscious. As soon as the opportunity had arisen they’d run away, but unfortunately not before they’d both suffered further injury. They’d spent several months living hand-to-mouth, sleeping in barns and stealing food, until they were caught in the market and Brother Paul stepped in to help them, paying off the baker and promising he’d give them a safe place to stay.

When they’d arrived at the monastery they were half-starved and filthy, and Aramis had his work cut out trying to get them to bathe. Caroline was as skittish and nervous as a wild animal, shrieking when anyone got near her brother, and refusing to let anyone touch her. She arrived at the monastery under duress, coming only because her brother seemed unable to turn down the monk’s offer of food and warmth and safety, reassured by the cross around his neck (his father had been a devout man and had taken his children to church every Sunday) and she was afraid to be left alone.

While the children were eating their first decent meal in months, the monks set up two simple bunks for them, and filled a washing tub with hot water, then left Aramis alone to deal with the children while they went to prayers.

For the first time in his life, Aramis had no idea what to do with a woman. Not that Caroline was a woman yet, but even so, he found himself completely at a loss. The girl showed absolutely no desire to bathe, and neither did her brother. Nothing he said seemed to make any difference, so eventually he told them he was going to leave the room and sit outside and they could wash if they wanted to, or not, but if they did, he would tell them a story after supper.

He pulled up a chair outside the door, and for want of anything better to do, and because he was missing prayers, began to sing hymns. Reassured by the soothing lilt of his deep voice singing the familiar hymns they knew from church, the children began to relax, and when they were sure he wasn’t going to come back in, took their first bath in a long time. When Aramis finally knocked on the door, they were both clean and dressed in the simple clothes that Brother Paul had had the foresight to buy in the market.

That first afternoon, Aramis took them on a tour of the monastery and the gardens, and after supper, he kept his word and told them a story: the story of a brave young soldier and a beautiful young woman, from whom he rented a room, whose husband was a cloth merchant. It was a wonderfully romantic and heroic story by Aramis’s telling, with a lot less blood and tragedy than the real story, and before he reached its conclusion both children had fallen asleep. The next night Caroline asked to hear the end of the story. It was the first time she had spoken, rather than shrieked, since arriving at the monastery.

Neither child could read nor write, so Aramis had his work cut out for him. During the day he focused on literacy and mathematics, and told them stories from the bible. In the afternoons when he worked in the clinic, the children helped the monks in the garden or the kitchen, and in the late afternoons Aramis took them for walks, or played games with them. Caroline continued to be nervous and not allow any of the monks to touch her, and it was only when she got herself caught on a branch one afternoon while climbing a tree, and was unable to free herself, that she finally consented to let Aramis help her, almost rigid with fear as he gently lifted her up so he could untangle her, the whole time talking to her in a low and reassuring voice. For a long time she was wary of all adults, including the other monks, but after that day, she lost her fear of Aramis. Marc was more trusting, right from the beginning. He was a good-natured young man, and after a few weeks of decent meals and kind words, he appeared quite at home in the monastery.

It was only after many weeks (and many stories) when he’d proved to them that they could fully trust him, that Marc revealed to Aramis why they hadn’t been willing to undress in front of him. The inn-keeper, after what he’d judged to be one too many spills, had thrown hot water over Caroline to teach her a lesson, leaving her skin badly scarred from scalding, and Marc himself bore the scars of several beatings with a leather strap. Aramis shook with suppressed rage, and silently swore he’d beat the man to within an inch of his life if he ever met him, only to have to remind himself that wasn’t the action of a monk. That night, he prayed for strength, for peace, and for the children, and for the first time since Isabelle’s death, he cried.

* * *

A few months after Marc and Caroline arrived at the monastery, other children began to show up, and the monks took them all in. Many only stayed a few weeks until relatives came to claim them, but some stayed longer, like Marie. She was just a tiny scrap of a thing when she first arrived, brought to their door by an aging relation, a cripple who could barely care for herself, let alone a four-year old child. She clung to her great aunt, and cried uncontrollably when the woman unceremoniously dumped her in the Abbott’s arms. After ten minutes of fighting with a struggling ear-splitting bundle, which shattered the tranquil peace of the monastery, the Abbott strode into the room where Aramis was teaching the five children they had in care at the time, and declared classes over for the day. He dumped the screaming Marie in Aramis’s arms and retreated to the peace of the chapel in relief.

Once again, Aramis was at a loss to know how to deal with the child. She seemed physically unable to stop screaming. He paced back and forth, balancing her on his hip, bouncing her up and down, talking softly, but to no avail. He tried singing, but if anything, she wailed even louder. Finally, he took her out into the garden, hoping the lack of walls would take the sting out of her screams, but she sounded just as loud. His arms began to ache from holding her so he tried to put her down, but she wouldn’t let go of him, screaming even louder, and grabbing at his hair, pulling it so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He wouldn’t wish this torture on his worst enemies. Truly, he’d experienced less pain falling through the window of the observatory at Chatillon. At least that had been brief.

Eventually, he sank down on a bale of hay in the goat shed, leaning back tiredly against the wall for support, utterly defeated.

One of the monastery’s cats, who’d been sleeping on the hay until rudely awakened by Marie’s cries, leapt up with an angry hiss and shrank into the corner of the shed, trying to find a place to hide. The movement caught Marie’s eyes, and she suddenly stopped crying and relaxed her grip on Aramis’s hair. Marie watched the cat intently, and the cat eyed Marie warily, slowly relaxing when the terrible noise didn’t resume. Aramis breathed a sigh of relief, running his hand through his hair and massaging his sore scalp. Peace, at last!

“Do you like animals?” he asked quietly, and Marie nodded her head enthusiastically.

“Why don’t you sit next to me, like this,” he showed her, “And maybe, if you’re very quiet and very still, she’ll come and sit on your lap.”

“Like this?” Marie asked, hopefully.

“Just like that,” Aramis smiled.

Marie sat surprisingly still and quiet, and with a bit of encouragement from Aramis, whom the cat recognised as one of the people who fed her regularly (an indulgence that was undoubtedly responsible for their continuing problem with mice, yet none of the monks had the heart to turn away the hungry animals), jumped up on the hay, and although she refused to sit on Marie’s lap, she stretched out beside them and let Marie pet her.

The respite was brief. As soon as the cat had enough and wandered off, Marie started crying and reached for Aramis again. But, this time he knew what to do. “Shall we go and meet the rabbits?” he asked.

The crying stopped almost immediately. “Bunny wabbits?” Marie asked eagerly.

“Yes, bunny wabbits,” he laughed. “and there are baby bunnies too!”

An hour later, Aramis carried Marie back into the monastery, a baby bunny tucked into her blouse. The Abbott protested (the rabbits were a source of food, not pets), but when Aramis explained it was the bunny or the screaming, he swiftly relented, so Marie got to keep the bunny until it was time to go to bed. She refused to let go of Aramis, though, even when she needed to go to the outhouse, and only fell asleep with Aramis holding her while he told the children the story of a baby prince and his mother who escaped from a wicked witch with the help of the gentle giant Porthos and his friends. (He never included himself in his stories, always assigning his role to d’Artagnan or Porthos, or sometimes even Madame Bonacieux / d’Artagnan).

Those first few weeks in the monastery, Marie followed Aramis everywhere like a shadow, refusing to be anywhere he wasn’t, unless she was asleep. She’d scream the place down if Aramis wasn’t there when she woke. The bunny slept in a wooden box at the foot of her bed, until it grew large enough to jump out of the box and chew everything it could find, and had to be returned to the garden. Brother Georges saved the day by returning from the market with a stuffed toy that could have been a rabbit, or a cat, or something entirely different, but which Marie could hug to her heart’s content.

It was a huge relief to Aramis. He’d always loved women pulling on his hair during lovemaking, but it was quite another thing to suffer the attentions of a small child ‘playing’ with it. He was quite sure that Marie had closed off that particular avenue of pleasure for him forever, not that it was open to him any more, anyway. Caroline was smart enough to keep her hair tied back and wear her cap all the time so Marie couldn’t get to her hair. One day she took pity on Aramis, and silently handed him the blue ribbon she often wore, with which to tie his hair back. It didn’t entirely solve the problem, but it helped, and not accustomed to receiving gifts from someone who had so little to give, he cherished it as much as he did the Queen’s crucifix (now prudently hidden away where it could not be recognised again).

As far as Aramis was concerned, the arrival of that stuffed toy was truly a gift from God. Marie finally had something to clutch at when stressed that didn’t experience pain. He often gave thanks to Brother Georges in his prayers, and when Marie wore holes in the creature and the stuffing started to come out, he sat and repaired it with stitches fine enough for the Queen’s chemise…

…but it was best not to think about that.


	2. Adele, and the nightingale who sang in a storm.

The next of the long-term orphans to arrive was Adele: silent, serious, and old beyond her years. The couple who brought her in told the Abbott a little of her story. They’d been fleeing the fighting and passed through a village just before the Spanish arrived. Adele’s father had refused to surrender his farm to them, so they gathered his family, his wife and three children (Adele’s younger brothers and sister), and shot them as an example to the other villagers. Adele had been in the shed, milking, and hearing the shots, ran out and saw her mother and father fall. She’d screamed and dropped the pail of milk, and the men had seen her, so she’d run. She didn’t stop running until she ran into a small party of refugees, collapsing and crying in the woman’s arms, choking out what she’d witnessed between sobs.

She hadn’t spoken for the three weeks since, the couple told the Abbott, when they reluctantly explained they had no money or destination in mind, and were simple unable to care for her.

Adele posed a whole new challenge for Aramis. Firstly, of course, she reminded him painfully of one of the reasons he’d entered the monastery in the first place. And secondly, she wouldn’t speak. She was literate, he found out quickly enough, and devoured all the texts he gave her to read, but wouldn’t read aloud. She was fiercely protective towards the younger children, but only responded to their questions with nods or gestures. Within a few days of arriving, she wouldn’t let Marie out of her sight, and Aramis finally found himself no longer needed to put the young girl to sleep.

Checking on the children one night after evening prayers, a few weeks after Adele arrived, he discovered Adele sound asleep in her bed with Marie’s arms wrapped around her. Instead of Adele helping Marie to sleep, it seemed that Marie had helped Adele to sleep, because the young girl was still awake and as Aramis crept into the room she put a finger to her lips and glared at him fiercely. A quick glance around the dormitory assured him that all else was well, so he backed out quietly, trying hard not to laugh at the turnaround.

* * *

There was a terrible storm that autumn, shortly before harvest, which tore the leaves from the trees, and many branches too, and destroyed the farmers' crops. They had twelve children in care at the time, and as the storm began to pick up strength in the afternoon, Aramis cancelled their usual walk, and kept the children inside, with the exception of a few of the older children who helped the monks bring the animals inside and harvest what they could from the gardens, covering what was left as best they could with sacking and tying everything down.

By 4 o’clock that afternoon the wind was howling and the trees outside were bending over in the wind and the children and monks alike were frightened. Aramis and Brother Georges organised games, dividing the children up into two teams and competing against each other, keeping them busy until supper, while the other monks did their best to secure all the windows and doors against the tempest. Darkness came early that night and the children were anxious and restless. Aramis tried to get them to bed, but they wouldn’t settle, so he sat with them and told them stories of the Musketeers and the giant Porthos and how they’d saved the Queen from ogres. And how Athos had saved a whole village from an evil landowner and his wicked and lazy son, with the help of his friends.

When the wind increased further and the windows began to rattle alarmingly in their frames, Aramis turned to songs, encouraging the children to sing hymns or nursery rhymes with him. Noticing that he hadn’t come down to evening prayers, the Abbott sent Brother Paul to investigate, and he and Brother Georges brought up warm milk with honey for the children and sat and sang with them while Aramis went to relieve himself. Using the outhouse was impossible in the storm, so everyone had to make do with buckets.

When Aramis returned he found a couple of the younger children had dropped off to sleep, but most were still awake. The other two monks took their leave and Aramis resumed his singing. All the children joined in, except Adele, who still hadn’t spoken a word, until a loud crash somewhere outside the monastery (which they learned next day was a tree falling on the goat shed) woke the younger children, and startled everyone into frightened silence.

Then Marie began to wail.

Aramis crawled onto the bed and pulled her into his lap, trying to soothe her cries. She clung to him but wouldn’t be silenced. A couple of the younger children began to cry too. One by one, the children piled onto Marie’s bed, or the one beside it, nobody wanting to be left on his or her own. Adele sat on the edge of the bed next to Marie, trying to help Aramis calm her, while some of the children curled up around his legs. Marc and Caroline sat close together on the other bed, pulling the rest of the children around them and draping them with blankets. They all looked to Aramis, needing some assurance, but he had his hands full trying to soothe Marie.

That’s when the most extraordinary thing happened. Adele, who hadn’t spoken a word, not one, in the several months she’d been at the monastery, opened her mouth and began to sing. At first her voice was thin and scratchy, but slowly she began to find her range, and by the end she was singing the old French lullaby like a nightingale. Or an angel, thought Aramis, staring at her in disbelief as Marie finally fell silent to listen to her.

Unaccustomed to being used, her voice soon began to give out, falling away into a dry cough, but Aramis and Marc (who had a surprisingly pure choir boy’s treble) quickly picked up the melody. Aramis reached out and took Adele’s hand, squeezing it in both thanks and relief, surprised to find his own voice shaking with emotion as he continued to sing. When the song ended they all fell silent for a moment, then the children began to tease and compliment Adele.

Aramis got the boys to help him push three of the bunk beds together, while the girls gathered around a blushing Adele, then they pulled the blankets off the other beds and turned the three bunks into a little fortress. All twelve children, plus Aramis, crawled inside and huddled together under the blankets. It was completely dark without any candles, but everyone could feel their brothers and sisters and friends around them, and Aramis, Marc, and Adele continued to sing softly, until one by one, the children fell asleep.

* * *

The storm was still blowing in the morning, and when the children failed to come down for breakfast, the Abbott went to investigate. He found them all sound asleep in their blanket fort, Aramis snoring softly, like a cat purring, half-sitting, half-lying with children draped all over him and each other. Marie was curled up with her head on his stomach, one hand twisted in his robe, the other clutching her wabbit, and Adele was propped up against Aramis’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around Marie's waist. She stirred as the Abbott gently replaced the blanket, and extricated herself from the bunk.

“We sang them to sleep!” she whispered, hoarsely.

The Abbott hugged her fiercely, exclaiming with surprise and joy at hearing her speak.

“Shhh!” she cautioned, “Don’t wake them!”

He smiled and nodded. “Why don’t we go down to breakfast and let them sleep in, just for today?” he suggested quietly.

Adele smiled back, and the Abbott wrapped a blanket round her, silently giving thanks for this small but very welcome miracle, and for the former soldier who, for all his faults, understood the needs of these troubled children better than any of the other monks could have done, and poured his heart and soul into their care.


	3. Luc, the would-be-soldier.

The winter that followed The Great Storm was a particularly cruel one. The monastery fared better than most, due to their solid walls and preparation, but many local families had lost their crops and some of their animals, and the majority of the poorer homes had sustained some damage. The Abbott took over the children’s lessons for a few weeks, sending Aramis and Brother Georges to help people repair their homes before the worst of the winter weather set in, and when the families begged for help, having no food to put on the table for their children, he agreed to take in some of the younger ones over the winter. By the time Aramis resumed his tutoring, there were 20 children in the brothers’ care, and the arrival of Luc made it 21.

Aramis and Georges had been helping to rebuild a stable in the village when a party of French soldiers showed up. A bedraggled bunch, fresh from a skirmish near Béthune, they were on their way to rejoin the front, several of them carrying untreated injuries. Aramis offered to take a look at their wounds, which they gratefully accepted. With them, was a young man called Luc, barely fourteen, and the soldiers explained they’d heard talk of a monastery taking in children and had come to Douai in the hope of leaving him there.

Handing Aramis a fresh scalpel with which to dig a bullet out of the soldier’s shoulder, Brother Georges raised an eyebrow. “Fourteen is old enough to work,” he murmured, “And we already have our hands full.”

Aramis agreed. “Why is he travelling with you?” he asked.

“His parents were killed when the Spanish torched their village after losing a skirmish with us. As they retreated they burned everything in their path to ensure we’d have no assistance or resources. Luc was gathering firewood in the forest, but came to home to find his home ablaze. His parents and younger sister were trapped inside and died in the fire.” The soldier paused to cross himself, as did the two monks. He was silent for a moment, before continuing. “We arrived shortly after. Luc was distraught and his sadness quickly turned to anger. He set out after the soldiers, threatening to avenge his family, and we had to restrain him. We tried to talk some sense into him, but he didn’t want to listen. Eventually we told him he could join us and we’d train him to fight…”

“But, he’s too young!” Brother Georges interjected.

The soldier nodded. “We only told him that to stop him from getting himself killed. Our regiment doesn’t accept cadets under the age of 16, but he has no family left, we didn’t know what to do. Then we heard about the monastery and we were passing close by, so we decided to bring him here.”

Aramis and Brother Georges exchanged helpless looks. They already had more children in care than they could properly accommodate.

“He’s made himself useful.” the soldier offered, “His father was a cook at the local inn, and Luc worked alongside him. He’s a hard worker and resourceful. He can make a meal out of next to nothing. We’ll be sorry to lose him actually, but the army’s no place for a boy, especially one as hot-headed as he is.”

An image of the young d’Artagnan showing up at The Garrison threatening to kill Athos popped into Aramis’s mind. He looked at Brother Georges. “We could always make use of an extra hand in the kitchen,” he suggested “especially one that can make something out of nothing.” What remained of the monastery’s harvest was going to be hard pushed to last the winter. Brother Georges agreed, hoping the Abbott would see likewise.

“Thank you,” the soldier groaned, wincing as Aramis tied of the last of his stitches in his shoulder, “for this, and for agreeing to take Luc. He won’t like it though. He thinks he’s going to be a soldier.”

* * *

Luc really didn’t like it. He was furious with the soldiers, seeing it as a complete betrayal of his trust, which of course it was, even if he was too young and angry to see it was for his own good.

“You’re too young for the army.” Aramis explained patiently.

“What do you know?” Luc retorted, “You’re just a monk.”

“I know enough.” Aramis replied firmly. “I know that we have 20 children in our care, many of whom have lost their parents and families, just like you. I know that they’d welcome an older brother. And I know that we could use your help in the kitchen. We have more hungry mouths to feed than food in our cellar.”

“Then you don’t need one more!” Luc retorted.

“Indeed we don’t!” a hint of impatience crept into Aramis’s voice and flashed across his features, and Luc suddenly felt a lot less sure of himself. Aramis composed himself quickly, and continued more gently, “We don’t _need_ one more, but we would welcome you nonetheless. Come with us, and help in the kitchen, and you’ll have a home and an education for the next two years. When you turn sixteen you can leave us able to read and write, with a good reference as to your character and abilities should you wish to become a cook, or you can go and join the army. Either way, you’ll leave us in a better position to take care of yourself than you are now.”

Luc hesitated. “I can learn to read and write?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes, in French and Latin, plus mathematics and bible studies. Five hours of lessons every day, in return for helping prepare food for the children and my brothers.”

Luc said nothing, but the two monks could see he was tempted.

“Do we have a deal?” Aramis asked.

Luc nodded.

“Good.” Aramis smiled. “We have a few things to finish up here, but will be leaving for the monastery shortly. Say goodbye to your companions and we’ll join you outside.”

* * *

And so it was that the monastery acquired another resident. If the Abbott was unhappy about the situation he certainly didn’t show it, and before Aramis had a chance to introduce Luc to the other children he asked to be shown the kitchen and helped Brother Jean to prepare the evening meal. Any doubts the Abbott might have had about having another mouth to feed were quickly dispelled when Brother Jean proclaimed Luc to be as hard-working and talented with a knife and ladle as the soldier had promised.

Although Luc struggled with Latin and showed little patience with bible studies, he had a quick mind and a gift for mathematics. To Aramis’s amusement he realised Luc measured things in terms of carrots and onions, adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing as though calculating what he needed to cook a meal.    

At first the other children were wary of him. The anger he carried inside him manifested itself in a fiercely competitive streak that compelled him to win every race and every game. The same anger lead him to throw a quill across the dormitory in frustration when he struggled to form a letter to his satisfaction, sending splashes of ink all over the walls and floor.

Marie turned on him angrily, “Look what you’ve done to Wabbit!” she cried, “He’s got ink on him! Say you’re sorry!”

“To a toy?” Luc responded incredulously. Marie looked outraged and screwed up her nose, preparing to scream.

Adele stepped in swiftly, “I’m sure Luc didn’t mean to hurt Rabbit, did you Luc?” she asked, in a tone that reminded Luc distinctly of Aramis when he was in no mood to be contradicted.

Luc shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m sorry, Marie.”

Marie glared at him and looked pointedly at Rabbit.

“Sorry, Rabbit.”

Adele smiled gratefully, happy to avoid one of Marie’s screaming fits, which though not as frequent these days, were still a torment to all who heard them. “Here,” she said, picking up his quill and returning it to him, “hold it lightly, like this. It’s catching on the paper because you’re pressing too hard.”

* * *

The winter was long and harsh, and the children’s afternoon walks and games were often cancelled. The younger children didn’t seem to mind avoiding the cold, but Luc was restless and Aramis couldn’t blame him. Luc reminded him of d’Artagnan ever more. His hot-headed impatience and desire to prove himself, his determination to learn, despite being well behind some of the younger children in his studies, and his hard work and growing skill in the kitchen.

Aramis himself wasn’t used to being cooped up inside so much of the time. He’d always been an energetic man and generally found peace in action rather than reflection. When he was physically still, his mind was restless, and he was grateful that the children gave him little time to dwell on it. He and Brother Georges had their work cut out keeping the children occupied.

He often found himself telling the children stories, and inevitably his tales were of the musketeers and Madame d’Artagnan and their many adventures in the service of the King. Aramis tried to avoid talking about the Queen, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Little Marie always begged for stories of Porthos the Giant, and Luc, unsurprisingly, was drawn to d’Artagnan’s heroics. Inevitably the children began acting out his stories, drawing a stern lecture for Aramis from the Abbott when he caught the children acting out a battle one day.

“You indulge them too much.” he cautioned. “I know it’s hard for them to be confined indoors in this terrible weather, but fighting their way through the monastery with sticks? It’s too much. Find some less aggressive pastimes for them, Aramis.”

He knew it was true, but the children were of the world, not of the monastery. They were young, and Aramis remembered only too well his own burning desire for fun and adventure.

If it was true that he indulged them outside the classroom, it was certainly not true in it. In fact he was as strict as Treville might have been when it came to lessons. His own education, in particular his ability to speak several languages, had been as instrumental in securing his commission as a musketeer as his skill with a musket, and he knew that a good education was the best weapon the children would have to secure themselves a decent position once they left the monastery. The ability to read and write and manage money was their only chance of avoiding a life of grinding poverty. They couldn’t stay in the monastery forever, and while a handful might choose to become monks or nuns, the rest would need to find their way in the world.

Aramis was determined to prepare them as best he could, and he knew he couldn’t do that thinking only as a monk. His stories about the musketeers were as much to teach the children about determination and resourcefulness and making decisions in challenging circumstances as they were to keep them entertained. The Bible might be an excellent moral compass, but it didn’t always reflect the reality of life in the harsh world the children would face when they left the monastery – he knew as well as anyone the difficulty in choosing between right and wrong – so he tried to do that through his stories. While Aramis wished his soul could find the peace he craved, he knew he could never completely leave the world behind as long as the children were in his care. To do would be to fail them, and he’d failed too many people already.


	4. Clara and the snowmen.

The winter was long and harsh, and when spring finally came it was greeted with great joy by everyone, not least the children who were finally allowed to leave the monastery and play in the woods again. Aramis and Brother Georges lead the children in games of tag and hide-and-go-seek, and Brother Georges proved to be much nimbler on his feet than Aramis would ever imagined, able to twist and turn out of the children’s grasp with surprising agility.

Gradually, the families of the children from the surrounding countryside came to the monastery to collect them, and their numbers began to dwindle. Brother Georges returned to his duties in the garden, replanting the monastery’s crops, and Aramis was left in sole charge of the children again. The overdue burst of fine weather lifted his spirits immensely, but also left him as restless as young Luc, who could barely sit still in those first weeks of spring. Waking early one morning, Aramis could restrain himself no longer and headed out to the stable where his horse had been confined to producing manure for the garden and ploughing furrows for the monastery and surrounding farms for the last few years, and saddled him up and went for a ride.

He returned late for morning prayers, exhausted by the now unaccustomed time in the saddle, breathless but exhilarated, expecting a stern lecture from the Abbott, but instead found a note from Brother Paul in the stables. The older monk was in charge of caring for the monastery’s animals, and it was an open secret that he was the worst offender when it came to sneaking food out of the kitchen to feed the cats. He’d had gone out early to feed them, and discovered Aramis’s horse missing. When he saw the saddle was gone too, he’d put two and two together, and covered for him, telling the Abbott that a man had come to the monastery early seeking urgent assistance with a medical matter and Aramis had gone to help.

Aramis thanked Brother Paul profusely after breakfast. “Why did you lie for me?” he asked curiously.

Brother Paul hesitated. “He’s such a fine animal. I must confess to having often wondered what it would be like to gallop over the hills with him.”

Aramis smiled. “Would you like me to cover for you tomorrow?” he offered.

“No, no,” Paul replied sighing wistfully, “but thank you. Just make sure you’re back in time for prayers if you give in to temptation again! Oh, and if the Abbott asks, you were helping a man’s cow with a difficult birth.”

Aramis laughed. “A cow?”

Brother Paul smiled, “I was going to say a baby, but then the Abbott would expect a christening or a burial to follow. I thought a calf wouldn’t require any further lies.” The two monks smiled at each other, and Aramis gave thanks that he had once again found himself among men he was grateful to call brothers.

* * *

A few days later, Aramis and the children were playing hide-and-go-seek in the woods when the weather took a nasty turn. The wind picked up and the sky clouded over ahead of an oncoming squall. It seemed winter still had a sting in its tail.

“Come!” he called out. “Let’s head back quickly, before it starts to snow.”

The children came out of hiding and began to gather round. Aramis did a quick head count.

“Where’s Clara?” he asked. The children looked around, shaking their heads. Nobody knew.

“Adele, take the young ones back to the monastery.” Aramis instructed, as the first flakes began to fall. “Luc, Marc, Caroline, help me find her. Luc, Marc – you search that way. Keep together and stay within shouting distance. Call out regularly and if you don’t hear me answer turn around and head back to the path immediately and wait for us. Caroline and I will search this way.”

Aramis and the three children began to search for Clara, but the squall closed in swiftly, and soon they were struggling to see clearly. Aramis and Luc called out to each other regularly, both hoping desperately for the shout that would bring good news. After barely 20 minutes the snow was so thick and the wind biting so hard their eyes were watering. Reluctantly, Aramis called them all back to the path.

“Go back to the monastery.” Aramis ordered them. “Before it gets any harder to see the path.”

“What are _you_ going to do?” Luc asked.

“Find her.” Aramis replied, turning away.

“I’m staying with you.” Luc said firmly.

“No, you’re not. Go back to the monastery with Marc and Caroline.” Aramis instructed, without turning around.

“No.” Luc half-shouted over the wind. “I’m not a child. I want to help.”

Aramis turned and saw the look of determination on Luc’s face and the set of his shoulders. Once again he was reminded strongly of d’Artagnan. If the young man was as much like his friend as he suspected, there would be little chance of dissuading him.

“Fine, but only because I don’t have time to argue with you.”

Aramis turned to the siblings, “Hurry back as fast as you safely can, and tell the Abbott not to send anyone after us, we don’t need anyone else getting lost in this. And get yourselves warmed up as soon as possible.” he added, seeing Marc shivering. The two siblings nodded and hurried away down the path.

“Come on,” Aramis urged Luc, “and stay close to me. We stay within sight of each other at all times, you understand?” Luc nodded. “Good.”

* * *

Aramis and Luc searched the woods for another hour, until the day began to fade and the snow began to pile up on the ground, making it hard going for Aramis in his monk’s robe. He pulled at it impatiently, sorely tempted to rip the sodden bottom off it. Luc was shivering but made no complaint, and Aramis felt a surge of respect for the young man. They couldn’t stay out much longer though, or they wouldn’t be able to find their way back.

He put his hand on Luc’s shoulder. “We should go.” he said gently.

“No! We can’t leave her out here in this!”

“She could have returned to the monastery already. She’s probably sitting down for supper with the others right now.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Luc challenged.

Aramis looked at him shrewdly. “No,” he said slowly, “but it’s getting dark. We’ll never be able to find her and we could get stuck out here all night.”

“So, you’re just going to leave her?!”

“Not willingly, but I’m responsible for your safety too. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s return to the monastery and resume the search at first light.”

“No!” Luc yelled and set off down the path leading towards the old bridge. “I’m not giving up!”

“Luc!” Aramis yelled after him furiously. He didn’t like it any more than the young man did, and had he been alone would probably have continued looking until it was too dark to see, but did not want to be responsible for Luc spending a night out in this weather. “Come back!”

But Luc wasn’t listening and disappeared into the snow, which was falling so heavily now that visibility was down to a couple of metres.

Aramis had no choice but to go after him, tearing angrily at his robe as he went, tired of the wet mass of it wrapping itself around his ankles. Without the garment impeding his movement he was able to catch up with Luc just before he reached the bridge. He grabbed at the young man, his earlier gentleness gone, and spun him round to face him. “I said no!” he barked. “We’re going back, now!”

Luc tore himself out of Aramis’s grip. “No!” he yelled, desperately, “I’m not losing another one!”

They stood staring at each other in the blizzard, and Aramis realised Luc meant another little sister. His expression softened, and he reached out to place a hand on Luc’s arm. The young man stepped out of reach, hating the look of pity on Aramis’s face and the feeling of helplessness welling up inside him, but he didn’t run.

“Luc…” Aramis began gently, but he was interrupted by a noise from somewhere nearby. “Did you hear that?” he asked Luc anxiously, not sure if he’d imagined it.

“Yes, I think it came from the bridge!”

“Aramis? Luc?” a tiny voice cried out.

“Clara!” they both yelled and took off towards the sound.

As the bridge came into focus through the snow they saw the little girl emerging from the brush under the shelter of the bridge.

“Clara!” Luc exclaimed happily, first to reach her, pulling her into a tight hug. Aramis grinned, catching up with them and throwing his arms around them both. “Are you alright? Let’s have a look at you.” He prised Luc off the little girl and knelt down to check her over, finding to his great relief that although she was very cold, she was otherwise fine.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “What about our rule about never going beyond shouting distance?”

Clara looked down at the ground. “It’s a good place to hide.” she answered in a small voice.

Aramis looked around. “It is,” he agreed, “but Clara, what if we hadn’t found you? What would we tell your aunt and uncle when they come to take you home?” Aramis spoke gently but Luc could see the mixture of fear and relief on his face which mirrored his own feelings.

“I’m sorry.” Clara whispered.

“It’s okay,” Aramis soothed, pulling her back into his arms and rubbing her back vigorously, trying to warm her up, “but next time, remember the aim of the game is to be found last, not to not be found at all!” Clara nodded and snuggled into the folds of Aramis’s robe. He looked up at Luc. “Can you see the path?” he asked, without much hope.

Luc shook his head. It was snowing so hard now, with the wind whipping it sideways, that he couldn’t even see their footprints from a few moments ago.

“We’ll never find our way back in this.” Aramis sighed. “We’ll have to spend the night here.” At least it’s sheltered, he thought, his mind straying back to the horror of the night he’d spent alone in the snow of Savoy. He pushed the memory firmly out of his mind. When tomorrow came he’d be with two living, breathing children, not twenty dead Musketeers.

“Will we miss supper?” Clara asked, thankfully interrupting his train of thought. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m afraid so.” Aramis responded.

Luc dug into his pocket and pulled out a hunk of bread and passed it to her. Aramis raised an eyebrow and Luc shrugged, “Marie always gets hungry and starts grizzling on our walks. I usually bring something to keep her quiet.” he offered, by way of explanation.

Aramis smiled. “Good thinking.” he commended, impressed. “Come,” he said, “it’s going to be a long cold night, and we need to keep her warm.”

The three of them huddled together under the bridge, pulling the brush around themselves as much as possible to keep the wind and snow off, Aramis curled around little Clara, with Luc gradually wriggling closer as the cold started to bite until both children were as close as they could possibly be. Aramis urged them to say their prayers and get some sleep, so they could leave at first light, but Luc begged for a story. Now that they had found Clara, his earlier bravery had worn off and, although he would have died rather than admit it, he was a little scared.

“What story do you want to hear?” he asked.

“Something about the Queen.” Clara murmured.

Of course. Stuck under a bridge in a blizzard with two wayward children, they naturally wanted to hear about one of the two people it pained him most to think about. But, he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to picture Anne.

“The Queen of France was the most beautiful woman in all the realms,” he began, “and the kindest and most compassionate…”

Long before he’d finished his tale about how d’Artagnan had saved the Queen and Madame Bonacieux from a group of rebels, both children were sound asleep.

* * *

Aramis himself slept fitfully, his back uncomfortably cold against the unforgiving rock of the old bridge, but reluctant to move and risk waking the children. At first light, he roused them and they made their way back to the monastery, where they were greeted with delight by the monks who’d spent an anxious night praying for their safe return. Clara had developed a nasty chill and the monks got her into a warm bath and fresh clothes as soon as possible, and Luc shortly thereafter. Aramis was dragged away, protesting, by Brothers Paul and Georges to be given the same treatment. The Abbott ignored his pleas to be allowed to see to the children first and told him very firmly that for once he was going to obey an order without question.

As he sank into the luxury of his first hot bath in several years, Aramis gave thanks to God and his brothers that he’d once again escaped what would have been an entirely justified lecture from the Abbott.

He didn’t, however, escape the nasty cold that had him quarantined in his cell for the next few days. A hot bath and being excused from duties might have felt like a reward to some, but to an energetic man that had rarely been sick a day in his life, despite numerous injuries in battle, it felt like a punishment, and he accepted it as penance, vowing to take greater care of the children and be more obedient to his superiors in future.

And, for a while, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Apologies for the title - I was going to call this chapter The Winter of Luc's Discontent, or possibly just A Winter's Tale, but I couldn't resist a Doctor Who reference).


	5. Bijou and Gael, and the pleasure and pain of fatherhood.

By the time summer finally arrived, Clara and the other children from around Douai had all returned to their families, leaving only the long-term orphans still in care. Luc was doing very well in the kitchen, and Adele and Caroline were showing great proficiency with needlework, meaning Aramis was no longer required to stitch up the childrens’ toys. Marie was helping Brother Paul with the monastery’s animals, learning to care for the goats and rabbits. She refused to eat the latter, but seemed to have no problem at all depriving them of carrots.

Bijou & Gael arrived at the monastery nearly three years into the war. Their family, along with many others, had fled their village when the Spanish attacked. They were travelling to Paris when sickness overtook them. One by one the refugees fell ill, men, women, children, until more than half their number died. By the time they reached Douai there was only a handful of the original party left. Of the dozen or so children, only Bijou and her twin brother Gael survived. Their parents were not so lucky.

The remaining travellers were so weak and exhausted they didn’t have the energy or resources to care for the children. One of the surviving women, who’d lost her own children to the sickness didn’t want to give them up, but her husband insisted. He couldn’t bear to watch any more children die, and secretly feared that the stress of caring for the children would be too much for his wife. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her too. So they left the children with the monks, and he dragged his wife away, promising that if they both survived the war they would come back for the children at the end of it.

Aramis examined the twins carefully and found no sign of the sickness that had claimed so many lives, but insisted on keeping them isolated from the other children for a week as a precaution. Bijou and Gael were malnourished but resilient, and young enough not to have truly understood everything that had happened to them, for which the monks were grateful. The two children were not identical in looks or personality, but shared a bond that was quite unique and perhaps helped to cushion them from the events that had surrounded them. They adapted to life in the monastery with ease.

It was Aramis that struggled to adapt. The twins were around the same age as the Dauphin, and spending time with young Gael reminded him painfully of the son he’d left behind. He was sweet, and shy, and smaller than his sister. It was always Gael who could never seem to remember how to pull his boots on, and needed Aramis to help him get dressed. When they went for walks in the forest, it was always Gael who begged to be carried when he was tired, or got stuck up a tree and needed help getting down, and Aramis could never refuse.

There were days when he was so grateful to be given the opportunity to be a father to the children, days when he gave thanks to God for allowing him the small miracle that was Gael. And there were days when it physically hurt to pick the child up, because he knew he would never get to do this with his own son, growing up in the Palace surrounded by servants and courtiers. He wondered if the young prince had learned how to tie his shoelaces, or whether he expected someone else to do it for him. He prayed that Anne’s courage and kindness would protect him from the worst of the court’s influence and that he would grow up in his mother’s image, not the King’s.

One day, out on one of their walks, Aramis wasn’t quick enough responding to Gael’s cry for help and he fell out of the tree he was trying to climb down from. He landed with a sickening crack on the ground, and Aramis rushed to his side, terrified that something was broken, or worse. Gael was very still and pale, and for one heart-stopping moment, Aramis thought he was dead. A stab of pure fear ran through him, a fear quite unlike anything he’d ever experienced on a battlefield, or even the fear he’d felt when he saw Rochefort with the chain around Anne’s neck which was fear mixed with a surge of fury and determination. The only time he’d felt anything like it were the moments before Isabelle died when he’d known there was nothing he could do to stop it. Pure cold fear.

Fortunately, Gael was just bruised and winded, the crack having come from a small branch he’d landed on, not from any bones breaking, and within a few minutes he was sitting up and laughing.

It took Aramis a lot longer to recover.

He picked Gael up and carried him back to the monastery and then went to his cell, nearly sobbing with relief, falling to his knees in prayer. He gave thanks to the Lord for Gael escaping the ordeal without major injury. He prayed that Anne or Louis or someone, anyone, would be there for his son, and that he’d grow up strong and healthy and not put his mother through the kind of terror he’d felt that day. For the first time he wondered if he’d made the right choice, leaving them behind. Was it truly for their protection, or for his? How could he abandon his duty to his son? The promise he’d made to the Queen to be his most devoted servant?

Gael challenged Aramis like none of the other children had, shattering the peace he’d begun to feel in the monastery, constantly dragging his thoughts away from his prayers and back to his son.

The fact that Aramis was troubled did not go unnoticed by the Abbott, who wondered whether he’d done the right thing putting Aramis in charge of the children. He already lived too much in the world, and clearly this young boy had triggered memories from his past. The Abbott did not know about the Queen or the Dauphin: Aramis had only confessed to his affair with Marguerite and how his love for someone else, a married woman, had made him blind to her despair. But the Abbott sensed there was more to the story, and deduced that perhaps there was a child involved somehow. It would explain why the former musketeer was struggling so much to leave the world behind. He still did not think the younger man was ready to take orders. Perhaps even less so now than when he first arrived. As fond as he’d become of Aramis, he did not believe the man’s future lay in the monastery. He did not doubt the younger man’s desire to serve God, but his soul was too restless, his body too active for a life of contemplation, and he hoped that through his tutoring or his time in the clinic, Aramis would start to realise there were other ways to serve. As a teacher or a physician, perhaps,

Aramis found his thoughts dragged further and further away from the monastery, back to Paris and the life he’d tried to leave behind. As the war drew closer to Doaui and more troops began to pass through the forest, Aramis forbid the children from straying too far during their afternoon exercise, or from passing too close to the valley where the troops were gathering. He told fewer stories of the musketeers, focusing on parables from the bible, or old French folktales. Marie sulked, and Luc grumbled, but Aramis would not be moved. He’d been too indulgent with the children, it was time to be more strict.

And for the most part, he was, but somehow his resolve always failed him with Gael. The boy’s smile was his undoing as surely as the smile of the Cardinal’s mistress had once been. Aramis was careful not to play favourites with the children, trying his best to divide his time equally between those who demanded it, like Marie and Luc, and those who didn’t, like Adele, Marc, Caroline, but somehow the twins got the better of all of them, and everyone made a fuss of them, especially Gael. Marie even let them play with Wabbit, which was normally a criminal offence. Luc snuck treats out of the kitchen for them, Caroline and Adele tucked them up at night and she and Marc sang them to sleep.

Although they weren’t that much younger than Marie, they were definitely the babies of the group, and quickly became everyone’s cherished younger brother and sister. Somehow their arrival made their odd little family complete and eased their individual losses. Only Aramis continued to feel the ache of what was missing, and Gael both pricked at and soothed the wound. He yearned, and longed, and embraced the pain as continuing penance for his transgressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bijou and Gael are the smallest of the children in S03E01. Gael is the one whose hat is too big and Aramis has to carry.


	6. Aramis, and the children he left behind.

**Paris, two years after Aramis left Douai.**

 

Much had changed in the year following the King and Treville’s deaths and Aramis accepted the Queen’s offer to become First Minister. When he looked in the mirror now, he barely recognised himself.

It wasn’t just his court attire. He spent so much of the day attending to important business, working diligently with Anne and the Council to negotiate peace with Spain and address the poverty and hunger that were taking such a heavy toll on France, that he barely had a moment to himself. And then there was the newness of his relationship with Anne, finding their way through the maze of what was possible and not possible in public and private, and spending every moment he could manage with her and her son. He did not allow himself to refer to the Dauphin as his son, not even in private. They had both agreed that his relationship to the King-in-waiting must never be made public, and while Anne encouraged and privately revelled in every moment she saw Aramis spend with young Louis, they both understood the consequences of anyone learning the truth about his relationship to the future King of France.

The time he spent with Anne and Louis made everything else worth while: the tedium of entertaining an endless stream of dignitaries and nobles that tested both his patience and his charm; the never-ending papers to be read and signed; the pettiness and superficiality of the court; and the endless gossip. Thanks to some inspired thinking from Constance and d’Artagnan, a good part of the gossip involved rumours about the First Minister sleeping with the Captain of the Musketeer’s wife. Rumours which none of them discouraged, and were the source of much amusement.

Aramis’s favourite day of the week was Sunday, when he escorted Anne and Louis to mass. The familiar prayers and ritual were a soothing balm, and allowed him to put aside the affairs of state and focus on the things he cared most about. Constance and d’Artagnan, and Elodie and her child often accompanied them and Anne insisted they came to lunch at the Palace afterwards. In those few precious hours every Sunday, surrounded by his family and his friends, the servants temporarily dismissed, the Dauphin playing with Marie-Suzette while the adults talked and ate together, Aramis’s heart swelled with joy and thanks at the miraculous turn his life had taken after so nearly losing everything.

Yet, he still barely recognised himself when he looked in the mirror.

He’d made an effort to tame his curls, keeping them shorter, so he no longer wore the blue ribbon that Caroline had given him in his hair. Instead, he threaded it into the crucifix Anne had given him, which he wore again around his neck. It carried so many memories, both good and bad, but he’d promised to wear it always, and it felt right to wear it as a reminder of everything that had lead him to this place. It still carried a few scars from being thrown in the fire and used to pick a padlock, but had been carefully restored to almost its original beauty, and the look on Anne’s face when she first saw it around his neck again was worth every moment of pain along the way.

The position of First Minister came with a very generous allowance. More money than Aramis had ever had in his life (more money than Porthos had ever won at cards, and possibly more than Athos had ever spent on wine)! He understood why Treville had ordered new uniforms for them all on the flimsiest of excuses – it was far more than he needed. Like Treville before him, he gave much of it to the Garrison, insisting that d’Artagnan spend it on attracting and keeping the very best recruits and providing them with the best food, training, and equipment.

But some he kept for other reasons.

When Aramis had accepted Athos’s offer to rejoin the Musketeers after driving Grimaud’s men out of the monastery, he’d asked for a day to help the monks give the Abbott a proper burial and say his goodbyes. The three soldiers had returned to the front to give instructions to the remainder of their regiment, and they all agreed to meet up again next day at the inn in Douai and ride to Paris together.

That last day with the children and his brothers had been an emotional one. The brothers had understood why Aramis was choosing to leave, as did Luc and Adele, but the younger children did not. They had already experienced so much loss in their lives, the idea that they were going to lose Aramis too was intolerable, and after all the fear and excitement of the last few days, it was more than they could stand. Marie wailed and screamed as she hadn’t for a long time, Marc cried quietly despite trying his best to put on a brave face, and Caroline – the girl who had once refused to be touched – clung to him. Gael and Bijou looked hurt and confused.

Although Luc and Adele were upset too, they tried not to show it, and together the three of them tried to comfort the other children, pushing the bunks together as they had once done in the storm. Hearing Marie’s cries, Brother Georges came up to the dormitory and joined them. He was almost as fond of the children as Aramis was, and had immediately offered to take over the role of tutor when Aramis had announced his intention to leave.

That last night they all curled up together on the bunks and Aramis told them tales of the musketeers, of Porthos The Giant, and Madame d’Artagnan, but, for the first time he included Aramis, René d’Herblay, Musketeer du Roi, re-introducing himself into some of the stories he’d left himself out of before, trying to answer their barrage of questions as honestly as he could – within reason. They sat up until well past midnight, until everyone but Aramis and Adele had fallen asleep.

“Will you come back and see us?” she whispered.

“I promise.” he mouthed, reaching across Gael and Bijou, curled up in his lap, to take her hand and hold it tight.

When Aramis woke the next morning, Adele’s hand was still in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers and reluctantly let go, before carefully extricating himself from the twins and Marie, who’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. He stood looking at the children for a few final moments, his eyes inevitably drawn to the sleeping Gael, feeling a wave of emotions rise up in him. Then he slipped out of the room before any of them woke, silently praying for their protection, and vowing not to abandon them even though he was leaving.

He gathered his few belongings, changed into his old clothes, folding his robes and leaving them on the narrow bed, then quietly left the monastery and went to saddle his horse. He found the brothers waiting for him in the stables. It was before morning prayers and they were still observing their nightly silence, but one-by-one they came to embrace him, just as the Musketeers had done when he’d left them so many years ago, pressing kisses to his forehead, and making the sign of the cross over him, until finally he was alone with Brother Georges.

“I can’t pretend to understand the life you’re going to,” he said softly, unexpectedly breaking his silence, “or the challenges it will bring, but I know that God will reward you for the love and devotion you’ve shown to these children, whether in this life or the next. I’ll pray every day that it will be in this, and that you’ll return to us safely one day.”

As much as he wanted to, Aramis couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat, so instead pulled Brother Georges into a heartfelt embrace.

* * *

Aramis had thought of the children often, and Brother George’s words had given him comfort in his darkest moments, when he thought all hope was lost. He wrote to him often, sending messengers to Douai with money and gifts for the children. He did not explain the truth about how he’d come to be First Minister (how could he?), but always asked after the children and for them to be told that he thought of them often and promised to visit as soon as the war ended.

* * *

It was another year before it was possible to keep his promise.

Three years since he’d left Douai.

The war had finally ended and things had settled down enough for him to feel confident enough to take a few days leave.

He would have loved to take Anne with him, but they both agreed it wasn’t wise to leave the Dauphin behind and impossible to take him with them, so Anne remained behind with her son, and d’Artagnan offered to stay at the Palace while Aramis was away. So, it was Constance and a couple of the cadets who accompanied him when he was finally able to keep his promise.

As they rode, he talked about the children, about Marc and Caroline, Marie and Adele, Luc, Bijou and Gael.

“You don’t talk about twins much,” Constance observed.

Aramis glanced around. The cadets were far enough away not to overhear them if he spoke quietly. “Gael reminded me so much of the Dauphin,” he confessed, “it was hard to leave him.”

“You must be looking forward to seeing him.”

Aramis sighed, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of old. “It’s too late.” he murmured. Constance looked at him in shock. “No, not like that,” he was quick to reassure her, “the couple that brought them to Douai promised to return for them if they survived the war. Brother Georges wrote and told me that they returned as promised, a month or so ago, now.” he sighed again.

“I’m sorry.” Constance said softly.

“Don’t be,” he responded. “They have a new family who loves them. And Brother Georges gave them most of the money I sent a few months ago to help them on their way. What more could I ask for them?”

Aramis smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was deeply disappointed he wouldn’t get the chance to see Gael and Bijou again, but he was looking forward to seeing the rest of the children.

* * *

It was late when they reached the monastery, but Brother Georges and Paul had waited up and came out to greet them. Aramis was happy to see they hadn’t changed at all, and didn’t treat him any differently to the day he’d left despite his radical change in circumstance. The three men laughed and embraced heartily. Brother Paul helped the cadets take the horses to the stables, while Brother Georges lead Aramis and Constance inside, telling them the children thought they weren’t arriving until the next day and were already in bed. Aramis was disappointed, but it gave him the chance to catch up with his brothers while they enjoyed a simple supper together, who had a lot of questions, not all of which he could answer.

Before he retired for the night, Aramis couldn’t resist sneaking up to the dormitory and peering in on the children. As he looked around at their sleeping forms it felt like the last three years had passed in a day.

* * *

Aramis rose early and joined the brothers for morning prayers. He lingered in the chapel as the other monks set about their morning chores, and then went out to the stables to check on his horse. Even though he was no longer expected to care for his horse but to leave it to the stable boys at the Palace, it was a habit he refused to shake. Grooming was an activity he found soothing and strengthened his bond with his animal, and when he took the Dauphin out for a ride, he always insisted the boy tend to his pony himself – to the horror of the Palace staff. He ignored their protests. “Care for your horse the way you want him to care for you.” he instructed. “Loyalty has to be earned, not demanded.”

Brother Paul was already in the stables, grooming and talking to Aramis’s horse like an old friend. Aramis grinned, “Why don’t you saddle him up and take him for a ride?” he asked, “I know you’ve always wanted to!”

Brother Paul shook his head, smiling, “No, I couldn’t, it’s been too long. I wouldn’t feel safe on such a fine strong animal.” The whiff of longing was still evident in his voice though.

Aramis grabbed his tack and saddled up his horse, then did the same to Constance’s mare. “Try this one, then. She’s strong but gentle. I promise she’ll give you no trouble.” The older man hesitated. “I’m ordering you, as your First Minister, to accompany me on a ride.” Aramis said firmly. Brother Paul looked up in surprise at the authoritative tone of his voice but found Aramis’s eyes dancing with mischief.

“Well, if it’s my patriotic duty…”

Aramis helped him onto Constance’s horse and was just about to mount his own, when a whirlwind came flying through the entrance of the stables and flung itself at him. “Aramis!” yelled Marie delightedly.

“Marie!” choked Aramis, winded by the now not-so-little girl’s attack. She’d grown so much, but apparently lost none of her ferocity. He hugged her back fiercely, then pushed her away so he could take a good look at her. “Look at you! So grown up!” Marie swelled with pride. “How old are you now… ten?” Aramis knew full well she’d just had her birthday, but couldn’t resist.

“Eleven!” Marie responded indignantly, pouting, and punching his leg.

“Ow!” he said, grimacing. She packed quite a punch. “Hmm, eleven... Is that old enough to go for a ride, do you think?” he asked Brother Paul.

“Have you milked the goat this morning”? he asked Marie.

She nodded. “I’ve already taken the milk to the kitchen.”

“Alright, then.” he smiled.

Aramis lifted Marie up onto his horse then climbed into the saddle behind her, and the three set off. At first they simply walked while Marie chattered happily, and Brother Paul grew accustomed to being in the saddle again, and then, when he felt more confident, they trotted and cantered. They didn’t ride far, because the horses deserved a rest after their long journey, but as they returned to the monastery, Aramis urged the horses into a brief gallop. Brother Paul laughed in delight, his robe billowing out behind him, and Marie shrieked with joy, her long blonde hair whipping out behind her catching Aramis repeatedly in the face.

By the time they returned to the monastery, Brother Paul and Marie were both breathless and elated. “Can we go again tomorrow?” Marie asked enthusiastically. “You are staying aren’t you?”

Aramis hesitated. “Only one more night.” Marie’s face fell, and for one horrible moment, Aramis thought she was going to start screaming. Fortunately, she’d finally outgrown that habit, and instead just pouted. “But, how would you like to go back to Paris with me?”

Marie’s eyes widened in surprise, “For a visit?” she asked.

“No, to stay. All of you.”

“All of us?!”

Aramis nodded.

“Even the monks?”

“No,” Aramis said gently, “not the brothers. They’ll stay here. Just the five of you.”

A range of emotions flashed across Marie’s face. “Are Porthos and d’Artagnan in Paris?”

Aramis laughed. “Yes. General du Vallon and his wife are looking forward to seeing you, and you’ll be able to see d’Artagnan and Cons... Madame d’Artagnan almost every day too. In fact, she’s here with me and she’d like to speak to you. Would you like to meet her?”

Marie nodded enthusiastically.

“Come on, then.” Aramis grinned, holding out a hand, “Let’s go and have breakfast and you can meet her.”

* * *

The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind, as Aramis and the children laughed and hugged and greeted each other. Aramis nearly didn’t recognize Luc: he was 17 now, and almost as tall as he was. Marc was 15 and Caroline 14. They didn’t seem to have changed much, apart from having grown taller, until Marc spoke. His voice had dropped about an octave! Aramis couldn’t hide his surprise and Marc ducked his head in embarrassment.

“You’ve cut your hair!” Caroline accused, noting the absence of her ribbon. Aramis fingered the crucifix around his neck and Caroline’s disappointment changed to pleasure when she saw the blue ribbon woven into it.

He smiled, “I still cherish it.” he assured her.

And then there was Adele, holding back while the younger children claimed their former tutor’s attentions. “You came back.” she stated simply, smiling.

Aramis regarded her, carefully. She’d grown into a fine, serious, composed young woman. He wanted to hug her, but perhaps it was no longer appropriate. Instead he took her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, “I promised.” he replied quietly, and then suddenly they were both smiling and hugging after all.

After greeting the children himself, Aramis introduced Constance. Luc blushed furiously as she gave him a hug and Aramis smiled to himself. He takes after d’Artagnan in more ways than one then, he thought.

Breakfast was an unusually rowdy affair as the children plied him with questions. Eventually, when the excitement died down, Brother Georges announced that there would be no lessons that morning, because Aramis wanted to talk to them all. They turned to him curiously, all but Marie, who was struggling to keep the grin off her face, because she knew what the others didn’t.

Aramis took a deep breath. “I’d like you all to return to Paris with me,” he began. The children looked at each other in astonishment. “You don’t have to. You’ll have a home here as long as you want.” The brothers nodded firmly in agreement. Truly, they would be very sad to see the children leave, but knew that what Aramis was offering would be a better life.

“Madame d’Artagnan would like to talk to Luc and Marie about helping her and the musketeers at the Garrison. There’s a lovely couple I know who would very much like to adopt Marc and Caroline, and Adele, I’d like to talk to you about working at the Palace.”

The children looked at each other in astonishment, not knowing what to say.

“You don’t have to decide right away. Listen to what Madame d’Artagnan and I have to say and then consider. Constance, why don’t you talk to Luc and Marie here, and I’ll take Adele, Marc, and Caroline to the classroom.”

* * *

Constance reached into her skirts and pulled out two knives and laid them in front of Luc. One was an ebony-handled kitchen knife of the very finest quality. The other, a beautifully fashioned fighting knife like the daggers the musketeers carried. “They’re from Aramis,” she said, “he wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer, so he thought he’d let you choose.”

Luc looked up at her curiously and then back down at the knives. Constance watched carefully as he picked them up in turn, examining them, feeling their weight. He realised this was a fork in the road, an opportunity to go down two different paths, and the choice was his alone to make. Eventually he laid the dagger back on the table, holding on to the kitchen knife. “I choose this one.” he said firmly.

Constance nodded, pleased that he seemed sure of his decision. “Keep them both.” she smiled. Luc looked at her in confusion. “Everyone at the Garrison learns how to fight,” she explained, “even our cooks!”

“I’ll cook for the Garrison?” Luc asked.

Constance nodded. “If you want to. Our current cook has been with us for a long time, and wants to retire. Aramis and Brother Jean tell me you’ve done a wonderful job here, but feeding musketeers... it'll be different from feeding monks. They eat like horses and they’re downright dangerous when they’re hungry - especially Porthos - although, the General rarely eats with us these days. Believe me, they’ll let you know if they’re not satisfied!”

“Where will I live?”

“At the Garrison.”

“And Marie?”

“With General du Vallon and his wife. They have two young children and a third on the way, and Madame Elodie needs some help. There’s also something else I need both your help with.”

Luc and Marie looked at her curiously.

“Elodie and Sylvie and I want to start a soup kitchen for the refugees and veterans that lost their homes and are still in Paris. Come winter, when food runs low, they’ll be struggling to feed their families and the Queen has offered to fund a community kitchen. We’ll need all the help we can get to get it up and running. It will be quite a challenge. Are you ready for it?”

“Yes!” Marie and Luc both cried at once.

Constance smiled, “Good!”

“Who’s Sylvie?” Marie asked.

So Constance told them about Athos and Sylvie, not the whole story, naturally, but the nice parts.

* * *

Marc and Caroline looked at Aramis nervously. The last time someone had taken them in it had not gone well, and they were understandably apprehensive.

“Brother Georges tells me that you’ve become quite talented at needlework. Do you enjoy it?” he asked Caroline. She nodded enthusiastically, and Adele showed off the clothes she was wearing.

“She made these!” she said. “And Marc helped too. He’s very good at cutting and sizing.”

“So I’ve heard.” Aramis responded, inspecting the cut and stitching and hems carefully. They were very fine. “What do you think of my clothes?” he asked, holding out his arms and turning slowly while Marc and Caroline inspected them.

“They’re beautifully made, and I’ve never seen such fine fabric,” Caroline said slowly, “but…”

“… they don’t really suit you.” Marc supplied.

Aramis raised an eyebrow in question. He was inclined to agree.

“I mean, they’re very stiff and formal.” Marc added, slightly embarrassed. “You don’t really look like you.”

Aramis laughed heartily. “You’re right,” he said, “but unfortunately there are certain expectations of a First Minister. Would you like to learn to make clothes like these?”

The siblings nodded.

“The husband and wife that made these are dressmakers to the royal household. They make clothes for the Queen and the Dauphin, and sometimes for me,” he began. “Athos too. You remember him? They are good people, but they have no children. They had a boy, but he died in the war.” Aramis crossed himself. “Madame Joubert’s fingers are not as nimble as they once were and her husband’s sight is not what it was. I’ve spoken to them about you, and they’d be very happy to take you in and train you, teach you every aspect of their business. To adopt you, if you’re agreeable. I know you’re almost old enough to look after yourselves, but they’ve been very lonely since their son died, and would love the chance to have a family again.”

Marc and Caroline looked a little overwhelmed. They didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to decide now. They would be happy to train you and pay you a small wage if you’d rather live separately than share their home. Come back to Paris and meet them, then make up your minds.”

“Will we see you?” Caroline asked quietly.

“Every Sunday,” Aramis said firmly, “when you accompany the Jouberts to church. Monsieur Joubert sings in the choir at the cathedral.” he added, turning to Marc.

Marc and Adele exchanged interested glances.

“I escort the Queen and the Dauphin to mass every Sunday,” Aramis continued, “and Madame d’Artagnan will bring Luc and Marie. Afterwards, we can all have lunch together at the Garrison, or at the Palace.”

“At the Palace?!” exclaimed Caroline.

“Sometimes.” Aramis laughed. He’d almost forgotten about Caroline and Clara’s enchantment with stories about the Queen.

“Is the Queen really as beautiful as you described?” Caroline asked.

“Even more beautiful!” he declared, smiling, and it was true, he thought, Anne looked more beautiful to him now than ever. Happier, more radiant, more confident in her own skin now that she had friends around her and felt supported in her regency. Now that she feels loved, he thought. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

Marc and Caroline looked at each other, their eyes shining in excitement. “Yes!” they said in unison, “but what about Adele? Is she coming too?”

“Everyone’s coming, I hope!” Aramis answered with a smile, “but I’d like a moment to speak to Adele alone. Why don’t you go and find Madame d’Artagnan? Do you remember how her first husband was a cloth merchant? She’s known the Jouberts for many years. I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you more about them.”

Alone with Adele, Aramis turned serious. “I have something to ask you, and I don’t ask it lightly.” he began. “Would you be prepared to keep a secret for me? A big one? Something you could never tell anyone who doesn’t already know, including the children.”

Adele looked at him curiously, “What kind of secret?”

“The kind that could save lives, or destroy them.”

Adele could see Aramis was completely serious. “I… don’t know. Whose lives? Would I have to lie?”

“Maybe,” Aramis answered honestly, temporarily ignoring the first question, “but mostly it would involve just being discrete and not saying anything if someone asked you something.”

Adele looked a little uncomfortable and even more confused, so Aramis continued gently. “If you agree, my life will be in your hands. There are very few people who know the truth. Constance, the musketeers and their wives, Queen Anne.” Milady de Winter, he thought, still uncomfortable knowing that she was back in Paris but prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt after saving his life.

“Why me?” Adele asked quietly.

Aramis continued carefully, “Because the Queen needs someone who’s good with children to help with the Dauphin, and it needs to be someone she can trust completely. I told her how good you are with the children and she’d like to meet you.”

Adele’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me, looking after the Dauphin? But… surely there are other people in Paris that could do that?”

“There are,” Aramis agreed, “but he’s got used to being spoilt and flattered, and the Queen would like someone who treats him like any other child. Someone who’ll be kind but firm instead of trying to win his favour. And Her Majesty,” and me, he thought but did not say it yet, “would like someone she could be honest with. Someone she could trust with this secret.”

“If this secret got out, who would it hurt?”

“The Queen, her regency, the Dauphin, me, and it could even lead us back to war. I don’t ask this lightly, Adele. I’ll understand if you say no. If you do, there is a very kind and lovely widow called Alice, who is looking for a companion. She enjoys art and literature, goes to mass every Sunday, and would be very happy to welcome you into her beautiful home.”

Adele hesitated. Was Aramis really willing to trust her with his life?

“Would I be able to see Luc and Marie and the others?” She flushed a little as she mentioned Luc’s name and Aramis stifled a smile. That’s interesting, he thought, and wondered if Luc felt likewise. He hoped so. He’d have to compare notes with Constance later.

“Often,” he promised. “Every Sunday when we all meet at church, and at least one morning a week when the Dauphin is having lessons. Porthos and Madame du Vallon have said you’d be welcome any time you want to visit Marie.”

“Where would I live?”

“At the Palace. You’d have a room adjoining the Dauphin’s quarters, and a clothing allowance and a salary, enough to live comfortably for some time after Louis becomes King,” he added, “whether or not you choose to marry.”

Adele blushed every so slightly again, but Aramis said nothing. She was silent for a moment, considering the two options Aramis had presented.

“Will keeping this secret harm anyone?”

“No. Nobody.” he assured her. “Although, you might think less of me.”

Adele looked at him in surprise. She couldn’t imagine anything what would make her think less of Aramis. She thought about it for a long moment, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her.

“If it won’t hurt anyone, then I agree.”

So, Aramis told Adele about his relationship with the Queen. When and how it started, about the birth of the Dauphin, about his terrible judgement and ill-advised affair with Marguerite, and why he’d come to the monastery seven years ago.

Adele said nothing, but the shock was evident on her face. “What happened when you went back to Paris?” she finally managed.

Aramis told her about how he’d tried to stay away from the Queen and the Dauphin but had failed, and instead found himself working with her to try and negotiate peace with the Spanish. He told her about the threat to the Dauphin after the King died, about Treville’s death, and finally about the Queen’s offer to become First Minister, and his acceptance, and the agreement they’d made never to reveal that he was the Dauphin’s father.

“You are the only person outside of the Musketeers and their wives, myself, and the Queen, who knows the truth, but you can never tell anyone, especially the Dauphin. The implications…”

Adele nodded, understanding the gravity of the secret he’d entrusted him with. “I swear it. I will never tell a living soul.”

“Thank you.” he breathed, kissing her hand, and holding it tightly.

“And… and now?” she asked. “Are you…” she struggled to find the right words.

“Do I… have a close relationship with the Queen?” he finished for her, letting go of her hand. “ Yes.”

“Is that wise?” Adele whispered, still shocked by his revelations.

“No,” he answered honestly, “but we spent many years fighting it, and it got us nowhere. The Queen could remarry, but not to a commoner, and if she accepted a political marriage our relationship would have to end, which neither of us wants, so we’re stuck.” Aramis sighed, running his fingers through his hair. At first the secrecy of their relationship had added a certain thrill to it, but that had long since passed for both of them as they’d gradually fallen in love with the reality of each other rather than the dream. “So we’ve been encouraging the rumour that I’m sleeping with Madame d’Artagnan.”

“Are you?” Adele asked in alarm, not knowing quite what to believe at this point.

“Of course not!” Aramis replied indignantly, “She’s like a sister to me – and to A.. the Queen – but she’s often at the Palace, and I’m often at the Garrison, so it’s a convenient way to deflect people’s attention.”

“And d’Artagnan doesn’t mind?” Adele asked incredulously.

Aramis laughed. “No, he thinks it’s hilarious. We both know that Constance is more likely to strike me than kiss me, she frequently does in fact! We’re like Luc and Marie.”

Adele smiled, _that_ she understood.

“Besides, as long as people think she’s sleeping with me, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else trying to seduce her. Nobody’s stupid enough to get involved with the mistress of the First Minister!” Except me, he thought, sadly, thinking of the other Adele and saying a silent prayer for her.

“And nobody suspects the truth?”

“I think perhaps the Magistrate does,” Aramis said slowly, “but he wants what’s best for France, and he’s been our strongest ally in seeking peace and trying to bring back stability and prosperity. I don’t think he’d ever do anything to jeopardise that.” In fact, the Magistrate, who was not normally known for gossip, had reportedly been the source of several rumours about the First Minister and the Captain of the Musketeer’s wife, for which Aramis was very grateful.

Adele sat silently for a moment, wondering what she’d agreed to. She found it hard to reconcile the Aramis who was speaking to her now with the gentle monk she’d known previously, yet when she looked up at him, she found the same kind eyes looking back at her, and realised that he was asking her to help protect his family, just as he’d once protected the family that had become hers over the years.

Families, she’d learned, could be found in unexpected places.


	7. Finding the missing pieces.

After tearful goodbyes to the monks, and solemn promises to return for annual visits, the orphans returned to Paris with Aramis and Constance, travelling in a carriage the cadets had acquired for that purpose – apart from Marie, who insisted on riding with Aramis, on the strict condition that she let Constance braid her hair so it wouldn’t keep whipping him in the face.

Luc settled into his role as cook for the Garrison, quickly picking up the ropes from Serge before he retired, and before long had proved himself invaluable to both the musketeer’s morale and in turning the soup kitchen Constance, Elodie, and Sylvie had envisioned into reality. When Aramis escorted the Queen to see the wonderful endeavour she had financed, and introduced Luc to her he swelled with pride, turning the colour of a beetroot when she held out her hand for him to kiss.

His relationship with Aramis was a little strained at times, due to the rumours about his affair with Madame d’Artagnan which he found hard to forgive, but it was hard to maintain his indignation when he was showing off his growing skill with a pistol and a sword as d’Artagnan or Athos put him through his paces. He was growing stronger every week and Aramis and Constance couldn’t help smiling when he tried that little bit harder to impress whenever Adele was around.

Adele adapted well to her position at the Palace, helping the Dauphin to dress, escorting him to breakfast and his lessons, and helping him with the French, Latin, and bible studies his tutors set for him, just as Aramis had once done for her. She’d been incredibly nervous the first time she met the Dauphin and the Queen. In public Queen Anne was so regal, so poised, so careful in her speech and manner, but Aramis hadn’t exaggerated her kindness and compassion – and Adele soon began to feel at ease. In private, the Queen was loving and playful with her son, and Adele loved the way Aramis and the Queen looked at each other when no-one else was around. The tenderness and affection they showed for each other, when they were able to drop the formalities of court never failed to surprise her, just as it saddened her every time they had to quickly slip back into their public personas.

The private Aramis was the surrogate father she had known previously, humorous, kind, and patient. The public Aramis was very different: strong; calculating; not afraid to turn on the charm when he needed to; and more than a little frightening – like the soldier they’d briefly seen resurface during the siege at the monastery, only he fought with words rather than weapons. The only time she saw a glimpse of the private Aramis in public was at church on Sundays. Although both he and Queen remained impassive and formal during the service, knowing that everyone’s eyes were on them, he was somehow softer.

The court had quickly learned that the former monk would not discuss business in church, nor was he open to any form of flattery or insincerity there. On Sundays, the First Minister was first and foremost a man of God, not a politician. Word spread quickly about the orphans he’d returned to Paris with, and his affection for the children earned him much respect among the people. In church he was able to let down his guard a little, and if he was a little less formal with the Queen and the Dauphin than he normally was in public, it went unremarked in relation to the affection he bestowed on everyone around him.

But, however approachable he seemed to be, no-one ever forgot that the First Minister had once been a musketeer, and the best shot in the army. The pistol and knife he still carried did not go unnoticed, and thus, never had to be used.

Yes, Sundays were still Aramis’s favourite day of the week. Athos and Sylvie refused to attend mass, but usually joined them at the Palace or the Garrison for lunch later instead. Athos had softened over the years, and was as devoted father as anyone could wish for. Aramis often called on their advice, and over time, Sylvie and the Queen became good friends. Anne even asked Sylvie to be the first woman to join her Council. Sylvie politely declined –she and Athos wanted a quiet life, away from the court, but she was happy to offer her counsel when they called on it. They couldn’t marry, as Athos was still technically married to Milady, but that didn’t mean they weren’t a family.

Marc and Caroline found themselves welcomed with open arms and hearts into the Jouberts’ home. The older couple had resigned themselves to a lonely retirement, and couldn’t have been happier about taking the two siblings into their family. If they’d had any doubts about whether the children would be a good fit, they were swiftly dispelled when they saw the clear interest and joy they had in learning the business. Within a few weeks Marc and Monsieur Joubert were singing together in church and in the workroom, bringing a joy back to the home that had been missing for so many years. Madame Joubert delighted in the delicacy of Caroline’s stitches, and also at her gentle disposition. She’d never imagined she’d have the chance to have a daughter, and was deeply grateful for the miracle of her unexpected family.

Porthos and Elodie fully expected to have their hands full with Marie, but she’d matured a great deal since her days of terrorising Aramis in the monastery, and proved to be a great help with their growing brood of children and an ever-swelling collection of pets, which began to appear in the house following her arrival. When Aramis turned up with yet-another kitten he’d found in the Palace gardens, Porthos told him he didn’t care if he _was_ First Minister, he’d throw him into the Seine if he brought them one more stray. Elodie didn’t mind though – having lived for some time in the forest, she quite liked having a few animals around the place. Marie was certainly still a fiery one, and reminded them both a great deal of Juliette with her stubborn and fiercely protective streak.

It amused Porthos to find himself surrounded by such strong women, and remembering the time Aramis had proclaimed his love of violence in women, thought perhaps his friend had rubbed off on him more then he’d realised. Indeed, all four friends had ended up with exceptionally strong women, and Porthos was more than happy with this state of affairs. Neither Athos nor Aramis would be able to marry, but at least they’d all found a family of one kind or another, and of course, they would always have each other. Only Constance and d’Artagnan had yet to be blessed with a family of their own, but when Porthos stopped to think about it, the whole Garrison was like their family. Every cadet that passed through the place would gladly have laid down his life for Constance.

* * *

Another year passed before Aramis received the letter he’d been waiting for from Brother Georges. The couple that had adopted Bijou and Gael had finally written to say they’d settled in Caudry and the children were happy and doing well. He’d copied the letter word-for-word and enclosed it, and Aramis read it with great joy. He finally had an address for Gael.

It was several months before he could get away, and although he would have liked to take everyone, in the end he went alone, apart from a small guard of Musketeers that d’Artagnan insisted upon. He found himself surprisingly nervous as he approached the small blacksmith’s cottage just off the town square. He called out as he approached, and the blacksmith appeared. “Monsieur Picard?”

The man wiped his hands, surprised and a little nervous at the appearance of the well-dressed stranger and a bunch of soldiers. “Yes.” he replied, cautiously.

“You probably don’t remember me, but…”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because the door of the cottage flew open and two children came running out, throwing themselves at him. “Aramis!” they cried simultaneously. Fine clothes or not, he dropped to his knees in the yard, and held the two children close. Monsieur and Madame Picard looked on in astonishment. They knew from Brother Georges that the former monk had since risen to the post of First Minister, but they had never expected a visit, nor did they expect someone of his standing to be kneeling in the mud of their yard embracing their children with tears in his eyes.

“You’re so tall!” he exclaimed, looking at Bijou, who’d shot up past her brother, and “I’ll bet you don’t need help getting dressed anymore!” he said to Gael, affectionately ruffling his hair. Gael grinned, and shook his head.

“You don’t look like a soldier.” Bijou commented, and Aramis laughed.

“That’s because I’m not anymore. Didn’t Brother Georges tell you that I work for the Queen at the Palace now?”

Gael nodded. “What does a First Minister do? I asked Mama and Papa but they said they didn’t really know, just that you were very important.”

Aramis felt his heart constrict a little at the ‘Mama and Papa’, but pushed it aside and answered thoughtfully, “Well, mostly I try to stop us from going to war again and help the Queen prepare the Dauphin to be the future King.”

“Do you play hide-n-go-seek with him?”

Aramis laughed, “Sadly, no, but Adele does! She’s working at the Palace too.”

Aramis let Madame and Monsieur Picard usher him into their cottage and he sat and told them all about the other children and what they were doing. The twins bombarded him with questions and he retaliated with plenty of his own about their new life, while their parents fussed and plied him with refreshments.

“Can we visit them?” Bijou asked, excitedly.

Aramis looked to the twins’ new parents. He’d arrived planning to offer them employment at the Garrison, hoping to bring everyone back together, but seeing the children so happy and healthy, and the simple but comfortable home the couple had created for themselves out of so much tragedy, realised they had everything he could possibly wish for them. So he kept his plan to himself, and instead responded. “Of course, if your parents will allow it?”

The couple looked at each other, a little embarrassed. Finally, the husband asked the children to wait outside for a moment, before turning to Aramis and explaining, “We can’t afford it. We have a little money aside to pay for their schooling, but it won’t stretch to a holiday.”

“I would be very happy to pay for their school books,” Aramis offered cautiously, “and cover the costs of you all coming to Paris to visit.”

“We couldn’t ask you to do that!”

“It would be my privilege. I never expected to be in the position I’m in now, and I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the children.” It was true, Aramis thought, if it wasn’t for Gael making it so hard for him to forget the Dauphin, he might still be failing to find peace in the monastery rather than watching over her – _their_ – son. “I’d like to share my good fortune with them. They never need to know where the money comes from.” he added.

The couple looked at each other in silence. They were proud of the life they’d built for themselves and their new family, but the war had taught them not to take anything for granted. They couldn’t have done it without help. They’d had no choice but to beg for handouts as refugees in Paris, and had never forgotten the kindness of those who’d helped them.

“The money Brother Georges gave us to help us on our way… that was from you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We’re very grateful. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You’ve made a wonderful home for the children. They seem truly happy.” he said with sincerity.

“They are,” beamed Madame Picard, “they’re doing so well at school, we’re so proud of them.”

Aramis smiled, he could see that.

She looked at her husband and Aramis couldn’t read the look that passed between them, but then she turned back to him and said softly. “They talk about you and the other children, all the time. Brother Georges too, but mostly about you and the stories you used to tell them. Especially Gael. I’m sure they’d love to see everyone again.”

Her husband nodded. “We’re not too proud to accept help, not when it comes to the children. We didn’t think we’d live to have a second chance at a family and happiness. We’d do anything to give them the best chance in life.”

All three were silent for a moment, each suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

“So, you’ll let me help them?” Aramis asked hopefully. The couple nodded.

“Thank you.” all three said simultaneously, and laughed.

* * *

It was another six months before the Picard family made it to Paris, but what a wonderful reunion it was for everyone! Knowing how important the children were to Aramis, the Queen conspired with Constance and Luc to arrange a picnic in the grounds of the Palace. All the children from the monastery were there with their new guardians; all the musketeers, their wives, and children; and of course the Queen and the Dauphin.

Aramis, for once, sat quietly, not trying to hold anyone’s attention.

He looked around at his brothers and their families smiling and talking; listened to the Jouberts and Picards getting to know each other and proudly discussing their adopted children; he saw the blush that came to Adele and Luc’s cheeks when their hands brushed as he offered her a piece of cake. He watched the children laughing and playing together, Marie bossing Bijou and Gael around, and Louis coming to their defence. He glanced at Anne and saw that she was watching them too, a proud smile lighting up her face. For a long while they held each other’s gaze, grateful to be able to share this blissful afternoon.

Aramis realised he’d never been happier than he was in that moment, surrounded by a family larger than he could ever have hoped for.

He was truly blessed.


End file.
